Obsequies
by Queen Riza
Summary: They were supposed to meet the kids any minute now and she couldn't bear for them to see him like this. She couldn't bear for them to know that they were dead before they even got into the arena.


"Another year ahead of us," she remarked, not looking away from the window and the passing countryside.

"Let the games begin," Roy's voice was humorless and she noted with distaste that he was already filling his glass with alcohol.

"Not setting a very good example for the kids," she chided him and he smiled a strained smile and laughed bitterly, as she knew he would.

"Because this whole country's just full of a bunch of fucking role models, isn't it?"

She knew better than to argue with him when he got like this. God knows he deserved to be a cynical asshole when he wanted to, they both did, after they performed so well for the cameras every year, reciting the same rehearsed jargon and smiling winning smiles as they watched the kids they mentored being torn to shreds. But they were supposed to meet the kids any minute now and she couldn't bear for them to see him like this. She couldn't bear for them to know that they were dead before they even got into the arena.

"Maybe this year—"

"The male tribute's only got half his damn limbs, Riza. Those kids aren't going to make it past the blood bath."

She leaned against him, feeling his warmth and the pace of his heart. He was scared, just as she was. "You didn't think I would either," It was Roy's first year as a mentor during her Games. Riza had been a shy, skinny thing, who had climbed a tree and then never climbed down except to grab a bow out of a corpse's tightly clenched fist. She had never been a favorite to win.

"Yeah well, you're full of surprises," he said, fondly twisting a lock of her hair.

"And they'll give him mechanical limbs in the capital. They can all sorts of things there."

"Doesn't mean he'll know how to use them. I might be able to teach them how to fight, but learning how to walk is beyond me."

"The girl's parents are doctors; that's always useful."

Roy nodded slowly, "We can work with that," he shook his head, "And of course give them my winning advice: Don't die."

As much good as it had done in the past.

"And you can always show them how to shoot," he went on, seeming to brighten up, "Just teach them pick off their enemies from above, that might do that Ed kid some good, he won't have to run—"

"They're going to want to hear about your Games," she reminded him and could feel him stiffen next to her. Of course they would. Everyone wanted to hear about Roy's Games.

She remembered them herself, before she realized that the next year she too would have to face the arena, watching in abject horror. The shortest in history, but also the most terrible.

It had started out like any other Games. A few hours in the blood bath was over, eight tributes were dead, and the remaining sixteen had gone into the woods to sleep with one eye open. That was when District 12's Roy Mustang made what would normally be considered a rookie, yet fatal, mistake: he lit a fire.

It wasn't an uncommon mistake to make, yet Riza remembered everyone back home being a little embarrassed that the kid practically sending smoke signals to his enemies was from their District. Everyone who knew his aunt said he was a good kid too. It was a little humiliating.

As everyone had expected, the Careers showed up, hoping for an easy target. But as no one had expected, Roy snatched one of the sticks out of the fire and threw the flaming branch in the Careers faces, and then went tearing in the opposite direction.

"It was a fluke," he said, looking at her expression, "The Game Makers maybe would have let the kid burn to death, and then they would have put the fire out. It was a damn fluke and that's what I'll tell them."

The thing is, they hadn't put the fire out. There had been the initial awe that some kid from 12 had just smoked his competition ("literally" one of the commentators had laughed) but then the fire had kept on going until nearly a quarter of the forest was ablaze. There was some glitch in the system and the Game Makers couldn't signal the water to get it to stop. Within hours, the arena had been transformed into a flaming hell, and the entire nation was glued to their screens well into the night until the fire had burned out, leaving ashes where 24 children had been just earlier that day.

Everyone mourned the loss of a victor, until it turned out that Roy Mustang had thrown himself into the nearest stream, and somehow, between the water and the smoke above, had managed not to suffocate. He had won the Hunger Games in less than 24 hours. A new record.

"It's not exactly a story that will be helpful for mentoring," he said, "What sort of advice am I supposed to give them from that? Damn the whole arena to hell and run for it?"

The same simpering woman from the Capitol knocked on the door, "Your mentees are waiting for you."

Riza nodded, kissing Roy lightly on the cheek before they walked out the door together, "If only we could," she said, "Run from it I mean. If only we ever could."


End file.
